Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost
by Lamby
Summary: An attempt to write a Gambit fic to join up X-Men Origins: Wolverine and the timeline Corrinth and I have been writing for the past 8 years or so. I'm not very good at time travel stories, but needs must so here goes nothing…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** An attempt to write a Gambit fic to join up X-Men Origins: Wolverine (SPOILERS) and the timeline Corrinth and I have been writing for the past 8 years or so. I'm not very good at time travel stories, but needs must so here goes nothing…

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**01****- Poker**

_The __sun was glistening like diamonds on the gently undulating waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The smell of brine contrasted headily with the fumes from the cars and mopeds speeding by on __Promenade des Anglais__. Across the road, beyond the palm trees, there was a café fronted with a scattering of patio chairs and tables. The redheaded girl was seated at a table just beyond the reach of the crimson awning that hung from the café's front. She had her eyes closed and her chin raised as she enjoyed the warmth of the day on her skin. She was dressed in a navy blouse that was open suggestively at the neck, wedge sandals and white three-quarter length trousers. There was a navy scarf twined elegantly around her neck and sunglasses were pushed up into her hair. As he walked over to her carrying their drinks she opened her eyes and smiled at him…_

Somewhere a door slammed loudly, jolting Remy awake. Blearily he wondered how he had ever fallen asleep. He turned his face upwards and shook his wrists. He was a captive. His hands were manacled to the roof of the cage _les méchants _had locked him in. He couldn't touch anything, which meant he could not use his mutant powers and escape. The situation was worse than hopeless.

Remy was surrounded by misery, amongst other caged mutants like himself. Many of those who had been captured and brought here were little more than children. Remy tried as much as possible not to look at them. The expressions of terror on their faces were too much for him to bear. Instead he concentrated on trying to keep the blood flowing properly through his arms by clenching and unclenching his fists. His fingers were numb, and part of him wondered if he ever did get out of this whether he would be able to hold a playing card again.

He had no memory of his journey to this place. In fact his memories of late had been patchy at best. He knew his name was Remy Le Beau and he knew he came from New Orleans. He had figured out he could play poker with the best of them, and that he was a mutant. Other than that it was mostly a blank. He didn't know who the redhead in his dream was. In fact he couldn't have named another person on the planet. Except one. Except Victor.

Victor was probably the reason Remy had no memory at present. The beating that brute had given Remy had damn near killed him. _L'homme sauvage._ Remy was a proud man. Knowing that the feral mutant had bested him in a fight and condemned him to this hellhole galled him. But he was also scared of Victor. If he never saw that lumbering oaf again in this lifetime it would be too soon.

"What you lookin' at _fils_?" Remy asked, seeing that the boy in the next cage was watching him intently. The boy, a scrawny lad with mousy hair and bad breath, blanched as though struck. He moved back to the furthest point of the cage and sunk to the floor of the cell. Whatever this kid's powers were, they weren't worried about him escaping. Indeed the kid just sat down and started twirling his fingers in a spinning motion. Little lights flashed around his moving hands and a web of thin white threads started to appear. Great, thought Remy, dey gone and stuck me in a cell next to Spider-Boy.

There was laugher across the room. Remy knew there was no chance if it coming from the cages. Sure enough three guards appeared, sauntering down the aisle like they owned the place. Remy's brown eyes narrowed. At a cage three from Remy's a blonde girl was too close to the bars. One of the guards made an indecent remark and grabbed at her. She instantly turned herself to crystal and moved away from the bars, shaking with terror. This amused the guards even more as they dragged over some packing crates and took up station not far from Remy's prison. Sitting down, one of them drew a pack of cards from a pocket of his uniform and started to shuffle the deck. Within a few minutes, the guards were engrossed in their game of poker.

Remy watched professionally for a few rounds. One of the guards was quickly building up a substantial pot of winnings, whilst the other two were looking more and more concerned with each hand that was dealt. Remy couldn't see all the cards the guards were dealt, but he could see that the one guard, Higgins, was more than a match for fellow Sergeants Norton and Schwartzer. Maybe, just maybe, Remy could use that to his advantage.

At meal time the next day, it was Norton who came to shove the trays of so-called food into the cages on Remy's block. This was one of very few times Remy was allowed to have his hands free. The whole while he was eating, Norton kept his gun aimed straight at Remy's head. It was quite hard to enjoy your meal when you could almost feel the itch in Norton's trigger finger. The guards to a man hated mutants. Otherwise they would never be able to do their job.

"Playin' poker again today_ homme_?" Remy asked between mouthfuls, trying to keep his tone casual.

"What's it to ya?" the guard growled, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Not'ing," Remy replied. "You wanna keep a close eye on Higgins. Every time he bluffs, the guy scratches his right leg."

The guard said nothing. Remy let it lie and finished his meal in silence. He slapped the manacles back on his own wrists, allowing Norton to activate the electromagnetic locks remotely. That night's poker game was a much closer run contest, with Norton winning back quite a lot of the cash he'd lost the day before. Remy didn't expect any thanks, but the next meal he got from Norton was a double portion. He tried not to think of a kid somewhere in the complex going hungry as he cleared the plate.

Schwartzer was a little harder to befriend. That could have been due to the fact he'd lost most of his month's wages to Higgins and Norton. It could also have been that he had drawn the short straw of escorting Remy back to his cage after another round of 'tests' with Dr Frost. Even with a gun lodged in the small of his back, Remy still tried to be amicable.

"You know those poker buddies o' yours are takin' you for a ride _ami._"

"So?"

"So d'you want help?"

"Not from you, mutie." Schwartzer replied, shoving Remy back into his cell. Remy thought that would be the end of it, but he underestimated just how bad Schwartzer was at poker. That night the guard lost his car, a Pontiac he'd bought with his first pay check, to Higgins. The very next day he was back at Remy's cage.

"Teach me," was all Schwartzer said as he released Remy's hands from the shackles so he could handle the cards. Remy was careful to build up the guard's trust. He didn't even attempt to escape, knowing he would only have one chance and he couldn't blow it. Norton found out about the poker lessons three days after Schwartzer won his Pontiac back. He wanted in. Higgins was soon losing more often than he was winning, and when he found out that Remy was teaching his colleagues he challenged the Cajun to a grudge match. Norton and Schwartzer put down high stakes to join the game. As easy as that, the poker group had grown from three to four, and Remy had found just the opening he was looking for…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to all you lovely people who have put alerts/favourites on me and this story. It makes me feel all fuzzy. Thanks also to my reviewers, always appreciated. Lamby

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**02- Escape**

"_Is it just me," said the redhead i__n an English accent, "or is Nice really, really nice?"_

"_Ce'st bien," Remy agreed, sitting down next to her, "but it ain't a patch on ole Paris."_

"_You're miserable," she goaded him, nudging him in the ribs playfully._

"_Oui," he agreed, catching her hand and raising it to his lips, "an' you know you like it Cherie." _

"_Gambit…"_

"Gambit! Wake up!" Higgins kicked the side of the cage with a boot, making the Cajun jolt back into the waking world. The guards had taken to calling him Gambit on account of him being the undisputed poker king. Remy presumed that was why in his dream the redhead was calling him by the same name. He didn't know why they were in France though. He didn't think he'd ever been to Paris or Nice. The redhead intrigued him. Had he made her up? Or had he known her once? She spoke to him familiarly; were they friends or lovers? She was beautiful, Bambi eyes and rosebud lips. He hoped it was more than just friends, but he couldn't be sure…

"Gambit!" Higgins kicked the cage again to get Remy's full attention.

"What?" Remy said.

"Victor's on his way down with Stryker. Thought you'd want a head's up."

"T'anks _ami_," Gambit replied grimly. Higgins nodded and moved away. Remy braced himself, flexing his arm muscles against the manacles. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that the Spider-Boy was spinning his web again. Gambit hissed at the kid to drop it, but the boy was totally absorbed in the thin white threads in his hands. Feeling eyes on him, Remy looked up to see the blonde girl staring at him. He flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and then looked past her to the gantry from which Victor and his boss would descend.

Victor appeared right on cue. The big predatory mutant moved with a powerful grace. His arms swung loosely by his sides, rippling with muscle. Each finger was tipped with a black claw like a cat. Victor's shorn head only seemed to exaggerate the madness in the mutant's gaze. If Victor had been a dog, he would have long since been put down. Any animal with that kind of stare could surely only ever turn on its master? Victor knew no rules, no code of conduct. Only Stryker could keep him in line, and that was only by letting Victor get what he wanted most of the time. And what Victor wanted was blood.

Stryker followed his animal down the steps from the gantry. He seemed feeble in comparison with the big mutant, but Remy knew that this human was the mastermind behind this shop of horrors. Together Stryker and Victor patrolled the rows of cages, admiring their handiwork. Gambit kept his head down and watched the two men through his thick mop of hair, hoping not to be noticed. He was disappointed.

"Ah yes," Stryker said as he stopped outside Remy's cage, "our Cajun explosives expert. Your power intrigues me young man. Tell me, can you explode living matter?" Gambit remained silent, but not through choice. Victor raised a lip in a snarl of contempt. Remy couldn't take his eyes off the feral and the dog tags that swung from his neck. If only he could get his hand on Victor's dog tags, he could take the brute's head off in seconds. Stryker seemed unflustered by Remy's lack of response. He turned to leave. "Perhaps you will be more forthcoming about your secrets on a cold slab. Put him on the list for tomorrow. I want a full autopsy, bloods, the works."

"Huh," Victor couldn't hide his amusement as Remy went suddenly pale. "Any last requests Gumbo?"

"I'll see you in Hell," Remy spat. Victor laughed aloud as he walked away, "I don't think so, loser."

Higgins, Norton and Schwartzer congregated around Gambit's cage for one final game of poker once the shift had changed that night… The guards seemed resigned that by the end of the following day their poker group would be down a man. Remy knew this was it, now or never, judgement day.

"My deal," he told the guards as soon as the cards were brought out. Higgins and Schwartzer looked on with sympathy as Norton granted the Cajun his last request. Gambit stroked the cards through his fingers, getting a feel for each one. Fifty-two cards, fifty-two missiles. Fifty-two weapons to get him out of here alive and he was going to need every single one.

_One__…_Charge the card, take out the side of the cage and the three guards beyond. Barely have time to register the look of surprise on Higgins' face.

_Two…_Take out the security camera at the end of the row. Spider-Boy is spinning his threads again. Jump from the cage, slip on Schwartzer's insides. Recover, get moving.

_Three…_Run down the aisle, charge the card, release… Sniper on the gantry doubles over and drops his gun, crashes to the floor below. Blonde girl is screaming to let her out. No time. Not sure I'll make it alone, can't risk it.

_Four…Five…Six…_Take the steps three at a time. Launch a card at each of the guards on duty on the gantry. Pray no one hits an alarm before they die.

_Seven…Eight…Nine…_Scientists this time, running from the lab at the sound of the explosions. Can't risk them raising the alarm. Kids downstairs are all screaming now. Air thick with smoke and dust. Guards aren't screaming. Not missed a shot yet.

Gambit dived into the lab and released a flurry of cards to clear the room. Explosions boomed to his right and left. He hit the deck and rolled, using the medical tables as cover as he headed towards the far side of the room. Before the smoke had cleared he had opened a door and passed through. Now he was in unchartered waters. He had never consciously been in this part of the compound. This was going to be fun…

_Nineteen…Twenty…Twenty-__one…_Keep fightin' Remy, keep fightin'. Shots fired, no time to take cover. Keep throwing the cards and keep running.

_Thirty-four…Thirty-five…_Two cards to take out a wall. Break into a store room. Two more cards to break out the other side. Got lucky and found fresh air. Clamber over the wreckage and force a way through the gap. Clothes torn. Hands, face and knees are bleeding. Can't stop now.

_Forty-one…_Sentry tower at eleven o'clock. Take out the supporting legs. Dive behind a wall as the tower crashes to the ground, spilling guards. Alarms are really sounding now. Breathe deeply, take a look around.

_Forty-two…_Stupid kid! Guard aged about sixteen stumbled on me. Blew him to Hell. Them or me. Where am I?

Overhead, two giant concrete cooling towers loomed like monoliths in the stark sunlight. Gambit winced; the daylight was painful to his eyes after who knew how long without natural illumination. Three Mile Island, he thought. This place is a nuclear power plant. What are they doing hiding a military base in a nuclear plant? Almost at the same time, he thought how can I use this to get outta here?

"Hold it right there!" A series of clicks were a host of guns being cocked and aimed at Remy's back. The Cajun froze, running an index finger over the cards he had left. Ten cards, and he hadn't even made it off the island yet. "Turn around," he was ordered. "Slowly." Remy did as he was told, hands extended to either side so the soldiers could see what he was doing. He moved slowly, knowing any sudden movements would only make them shoot. As he turned, something caught his attention behind the ten or so soldiers that has cornered him. A propane tank. That just might even the odds…

_Forty-three…_Even as the card left his hand, Remy threw himself to the ground and rolled. Bullets cut up the dirt behind him, but none struck home. Milliseconds later, the propane tank exploded. A flash of light seared the air, and the boom made the ground shake. Fire bloomed, incinerating the screaming guards even as the debris cut through their flesh. Gambit didn't look back. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

_Forty-four… Forty-five… Forty-six… _Take out a chain-link fence and the guard patrolling it. One more for the security camera. One more for the German shepherd dog that came bounding over with its teeth bared.

_Forty-seven… Forty-eight... Forty-nine…_ Three more guards, jus' keep runnin' Remy, jus' keep runnin'.

Gasping for breath, Remy ran onto the docks and spied a lone speedboat tied up at the end of a jetty. His hands fumbled with the chain to untie the vessel, every breath making his ribcage ache. Another bullet ricochet dangerously close, making Remy flinch. He jumped into the boat and headed for the controls. The ignition spluttered, refusing to start. A bullet punctured the side of the vessel and Remy had to turn his face away to protect his eyes from the shards of speedboat that flew upwards. He left the ignition for a moment, using cards fifty and fifty-one to take out the two encroaching gunmen. They both splashed into the water, disappearing from sight.

With one card left, Gambit tried the ignition again. This time the engine started with a roar. A second roar replied as Remy started to pull away from the side of the dock. Victor pulled up short, skidding to a halt at the end of the jetty and voicing his feral frustration.

"What's wrong Victor? Don't wanna get your paws wet?" Remy taunted.

Victor responded by turning and heading back up the jetty. When he had enough room he spun round and sprinted forwards. He dropped to all fours and picked up speed. At the last possible moment, he arched his powerful body and launched himself through the air at Remy's boat.

_Fifty-two…_

With his final card, Remy caught Victor square in the gut. The big man was thrown side-ways by the explosion and hit the water hard. Gambit raised a hand to protect himself from the splash, smiling grimly as he watched Victor disappear under the water. Then he applied the throttle and beat a hasty retreat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**03- New Orleans**

_He kissed her hand, and then smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair. He reached over and brushed a loose curl back from her forehead. They moved closer and she lifted her chin __so he could kiss her more easily. Their eyes closed as their lips brushed together. Her foot nudged against his calf as she kissed him fully. She was warm to the touch, her lips soft and tasting of the beer she had been drinking. As they broke away, Remy caught sight of his own reflection in the glass window of the café. His hair was thick and scruffy, cut in an overlong fringe that got in his eyes, but no longer that that. His eyes were red-on-black, red irises with black whites. His eyes were mutant eyes…_

It's not me, Remy thought as he startled himself out of his dream. My eyes are brown. It's just a dream, it don't mean anything. It's not real. _She's_ not real. The truck he was hitching in went over a bump in the road, making the cab lurch and the driver curse. Gambit lifted the rim of his hat and peered out, wondering where they were. The cab driver glanced over and grimaced something that might have been a smile. "Back with us?"

"Yeah," Remy acknowledged. Sitting up in his seat he knuckled the sleep from his eyes. "Where are we?"

"You're home," the driver said. "New Orleans."

Disembarking the truck at the edge of the French Quarter, Gambit made his way down Bourbon Street trying to jog his memory. He knew where he was, that wasn't a problem. The problem was he couldn't associate how he knew his way around. There were no memories of events or people that he could recall happening here. He must have been here before, but when and who with? It didn't make sense.

To relieve his cash shortage, Remy pilfered the wallets of a few overweight tourists before hitting the bars. Maybe a drink would help him remember. Somehow he found himself irrepressibly drawn to a high-stakes poker game and gambled all the cash he had to get a stake at the table. If he lost, he'd have to go out and pick pocket a few more marks. No big deal. If he won, he wouldn't have to work again for weeks. It was worth the risk.

"Jacks over fives," Remy announced, presenting his cards with a flourish. "Gentlemen, I do believe I win."

"Damn it to Hell!" cursed the Texan, slamming his fist on the table. The large man had turned an interesting shade of puce, leaving Remy mildly concerned in case he had a coronary. "How'd you do that, son?"

"Are you maybe implyin' I cheated?" Remy replied casually. He held out a hand and clicked his fingers, "Keys, _homme_, a deal's a deal."

"You'd better take damn good care of her, you no-good hustler," the Texan replied, and dumped a set of thin steel keys in Gambit's outstretched hand. I just won a 'plane, Gambit thought to himself. He came over all giddy for a moment, and didn't notice the Texan turn and walk away.

"Nicely done," said the black man who was sat to Remy's left. He'd had the good sense to drop out of the poker game before he lost too much, unlike the Texan. Remy smiled and reached out to gather in the rest of his winnings. The black man watched him intently, and asked, "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't."

"Ah," the man smiled, "the mysterious type. Well we're all friends here now, _ami_. By what name should we call you?"

"Remy," Gambit answered.

"Remy what?"

"You ask a lot o' questions."

"I do," the man stood, his smile fading. Remy stood too, recognising the danger. These people didn't like newcomers, particularly successful newcomers. If he had been hoping to find someone in New Orleans who could tell him who he was, he was disappointed. Maybe he should gamble here too. Someone might recognise the name if not the face, "Remy LeBeau."

There were a few gasps amongst the hangers-on around the table. Remy wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he thought he saw one of the girls swoon. The black man recoiled, taking half a step back. "Is dis a joke?" he asked. "Dere only one LeBeau family around here, _homme_, and you ain't in it."

"An' you know dis because?"

"I work for 'em," the black man revealed. "Jean-Luc LeBeau is a powerful man. You don't wanna cross him. If I were you I'd get outta New Orleans before he hears you stolen his name."

"I ain't goin' nowhere," Remy replied, folding his arms. "If dis Jean-Luc got a problem, tell him he can come see me." Maybe then, he thought, just maybe I might get some answers…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over the following days and weeks, Gambit fell into a predictable routine. Part of him knew this was the last place he should be. Surely Victor and Stryker knew he was New Orleans born and bred? They would come looking for the escapee and recapture him. But the tantalising knowledge that someone here had the same name as him was enough to keep Gambit in the city. He kept waiting, hoping that the mysterious Jean-Luc would contact him. Maybe Jean-Luc would know who he was, and help him piece together his missing memory.

He would wake around noon, and if he was not alone he would excuse himself promptly. He'd take a shower and two painkillers to beat back the hangover from the night before. The afternoons he spent either toying with his 'plane, honing his pilot skills, or else trawling the streets looking for anything that might trigger a memory. Every night he went back to the same bar, drank too much and played poker. He was sure that sooner or later something or someone would come to him.

Remy knew he was being watched. He could feel eyes on him whenever he was out in public. Walking down Dumaine Street with St Louis Cathedral behind him, Remy was acutely aware of being followed. He swallowed, trying not to react. The street was busy with both traffic and pedestrians. Surely no one would attack him here? Not in broad daylight?

He felt the softest of touches to his trench coat and responded instinctively. He caught the wrist of the pickpocket in his right hand, spinning round to face the culprit. Remy was appalled to see a scruffy urchin, filthy and underweight, aged no more than five or six years looking back up at him. The kid still had Remy's wallet in his hand. Gambit took the wallet back with his left hand and secreted it out of the child's reach.

"Where's your folks kid?" The boy didn't answer. He squirmed like a fish on a hook in Remy's grasp, trying to get away. Remy tried a different tactic, "I ain't gonna hurt you boy, what's your name?" Again no reply, so Gambit tried in French instead, "_Comment t'appelles-tu_?"

"_Descendez-moi__,_" squeaked the boy, breaking away by kicking Gambit solidly in the leg, ducking and twisting free of his grip. Gambit let him go. He didn't have much choice. His head was spinning as _something_ was frantically trying to surface. Did he know the boy? He was so distracted he didn't know he was not alone until the stranger spoke to him.

"He's a talented kid, _non_? Great potential."

"Who are you?" Remy asked, sizing up the stranger. He was older than Gambit but not by much. He too wore a trench coat. His face was hawk-like, his eyes keen and his mouth firm. Gambit again had an unwilling idea that he might know this person.

"Jean-Luc," the stranger replied, extending his hand. "I know who you are, _ami_. You've been causin' quite a stir around my town." Gambit shook the hand, finding Jean-Luc's grip solid, and asked, "You come to tell me to get out?"

"_Non_," the leader of the New Orleans Theives Guild replied. "I come for him," he indicated with a nod across the street at the child. As they watched, the boy opened a woman's purse from behind and took a handful of cash. The woman never noticed. "Excuse me," Jean-Luc LeBeau said courteously, and started to cross the street.

"Wait!" Gambit shouted after him, "Do I know you? Either of you?"

"I don't see how you could," Jean-Luc replied with a smirk. Then he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**I have no intention of reciting X-Men Origins: Wolverine back at you verbatim, so I'll try to make it obvious where the film slots in and leave it at that. Also if this story is a little disjointed I apologise. We have a new puppy and she keeps getting into mischief every time I get started writing!

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**04- Memory**

"_That man keeps looking at us," she told him quietly, averting her eyes. _

"_Ah he probably jus' jealous, y__ou captivated him too Cherie."_

"_Ha-ha not funny," she told him with typical British self-depreciation. "Besides its not me he's staring at, it's you."_

_Remy glanced around to see what she was talking about. There was a man sat at another table, and he nodded as R__emy looked over. Gambit frowned. He didn't recognise the man. The stranger got up and crossed the pavement, taking a seat unbidden at the couple's table. _

"_Pouvons-nous vous aider__?" she asked, but the man didn't even glance at the redhead. All his attention was focused on Remy. _

"_I knew you fifteen years ago," the stranger said quietly. He placed his elbows on the worktop so that his hands were resting in the air about four inches away from each other. The man twitched his fingers, making thin white threads start to appear between his fingertips. Somewhere a dreaming Remy knew this was significant, but in the dream he was unable to act on the feeling. _

"_I doubt dat," Remy told the man flatly. "Fifteen years ago I was a little kid pickin' pockets to survive back in New Orleans."_

"_You haven't changed at all, apart from your eyes," the man continued as if Remy hadn't spoken. "Still that could just be a side-effect from the travel. You're even wearing the same clothes you were when they brought you in. Victor roughed you up good. You did well though, in the end. It's only because of you any of us survived that place."_

"_Homme I got no idea what you're…"_

"_I have to send you back," the man said, twisting the threads in his hands into a long white cord. "It's the only way. You have to go back. I'm sorry."_

_In a fluid motion the man swept to his feet and grabbed the redhead. Remy lurched to his feet as the girl was pulled away from him. With his other hand, the stranger threw out the white cord. The girl screamed as the cord hit a passing car. The vehicle screeched and veered towards the café. Gambit barely had time to turn and see the car coming before it hit him and threw him up in the air…_

Remy yelped, sitting up in bed. His bare chest heaved as he brushed sweaty hair away from his brow. "Mon Dieu," he muttered to himself, "I'se losing my mind..." Breathing hard, he swung his legs around and climbed out of bed. There would be no more sleep for him tonight, or rather this morning. He may as well take a shower and try to figure the dream out.

The shower spluttered, objecting as Remy cranked the hot water up and stepped beneath the flow. _"Fifteen years ago I was a little kid pickin' pockets to survive back in New Orleans." _Was that right? The child from the day before came to mind. A child about to be taken in by a man named LeBeau. It wasn't possible, was it? Had he met himself as a child? _"It's the only way. You have to go back. I'm sorry." _

"You sure as Hell gonna be sorry when I get hold o' you," Remy swore, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned his face upwards into the flow of the water. The man at the café, the child in the cell next to his, they had the same power. The white threads. What did it mean? If the kid in the cell had been fifteen, then the man at the café was the right age to be fifteen years in the future. _Il n'est pas possible_. He couldn't have travelled back in time. Could he? "I need a drink."

Three bourbons on the rocks later with a pack of cards in his hand, Remy was feeling a great deal more like himself. A crowd had gathered around the poker table, and he was doing tricks, showboating for the ladies. They cooed, impressed as he nonchalantly skipped the deck through the air. A small smile on his face, he was already a few thousand dollars up in the game by the time the feral man and his Stetson-wearing companion came into the bar.

Remy watched the movements of the newcomers subtly from under the rim of his hat. He did nothing that might suggest that he had seen them. He knew they were sizing him up from across the room. When the black guy in the cowboy hat moved away to cover the exits, Remy tested the edge of a card with a touch of his power. He was ready for a fight this time. No one was sending him back to Three Mile Island, no one.

The feral man walked purposefully up to the table, never quite taking his eyes off Remy. The hairs on the back of Remy's neck were standing on end, his heart racing, but he refused to baulk. He'd known for a long time that by staying here he risked being found. He kept his eyes low and carried on with his card game. Maybe he was wrong, they might not be associates of Victor at all…

"Are you Remy LeBeau?" asked the feral.

"That depends," Remy answered, "do I owe you money?"

"No," a hint of confusion was in the stranger's voice.

"Then Remy LeBeau I am…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"We gotta get outta here."

"I'll make my own way," Logan replied, still looking confused. Gambit wasn't about to argue with his friend, not with the sirens getting louder. The kids were safe, the facility destroyed, and Logan could handle himself. Gambit had the feeling he was no longer required. He acknowledged Logan's decision with a sympathetic "Good luck," and made his escape.

It was ironic, Remy supposed, that suddenly he wasn't the one struggling without his memories. He wished he knew what had happened to Logan whilst Gambit had been shadowing the kids to make sure they got out okay. To lose your memories like that…_merde_! Logan hadn't known his own name. Even Remy had managed better than that. He had never forgotten who he was, just everyone he knew and what he had been doing before Victor beat the crap outta him. Then there was the dead woman. Gambit had a suspicion that Logan had known her, once. The way he had looked at her body, like he was trying so hard to figure it all out, it had been difficult for Remy to watch.

The little sea 'plane was waiting for Remy at the dock. The engines started first time, and he was promptly skipping over the waves before gaining altitude and heading for the cloudy sky. Remy allowed himself a moment to scan the wreckage that had been the Three Mile Island site. Good luck tryin' to cover dis one up, he thought. Then again, he was sure they'd think of something. No one would look too closely, and pretty soon the testing of mutants would be started again somewhere else. The only thing he could do was get himself as far away as possible. France, maybe.

The 'plane climbed well, and he steered the craft out over the ocean to avoid the commercial air routes. In the distance, a sleek black helicopter was also making a hasty escape. Remy didn't know why he was so sure the kids were safe, but he was completely confident that the bald guy would look after them.

#Come with us, # a calm voice said in his head, nearly causing Remy to jump out of his seat. #You would be made most welcome. #

"Can't," Remy replied out loud, hoping the disembodied voice would understand. "_Je ne suis pas censé être là_. I'm sorry. Take care o' the kids."

#I will. # the voice replied solemnly. #Perhaps we will meet again in the future. #

"Maybe," Remy muttered, but the presence was already gone. Gambit shook his head to himself, telepaths unnerved him. It unnerved him more as he didn't know when he had met telepaths before. Leveling out at an altitude of thirty thousand feet, he rubbed his brow with the back of his hand and tried to stifle a yawn. He was exhausted. His eyelids felt heavy and the cabin was too warm. Something on the control panel was blinking at him, so he gave it a slap. The light went out again, but now a dial was playing up. Gambit tried flicking a sequence of switches, restarting some systems. The dial steadied and all was well. Exhaling with relief Remy settled back into his seat. That was weird.

Suddenly there was a flash outside, making Remy shield his eyes and grimace. The 'plane made a horrid wailing noise, and every indicator on the control panel started going haywire. Before Remy could get both hands back on the stick, the 'plane had veered into a steep nosedive. He grabbed at the controls, pulling with all his might in an attempt to level out. It didn't work. He tried cutting power and restarting, but the 'plane refused to respond. The clouds rushed past, then suddenly he was below the cloud level and the ocean was surging up to meet him. Remy barely had time to think 'I'm gonna die!' before the impact…


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this. The method of time-travelling used in this story is adapted from the one used in the BBC TV series 'Ashes to Ashes' and 'Life on Mars', whereby a traumatic incident sends the traveller back in time without them seeming to leave the present. I resisted the temptation to call this chapter 'Back to the Future', but only just!

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**05- Journey's End**

The redheaded girl named Blaze screamed as the car veered onto the pavement, sending tables and chairs in every direction. Remy was hit before he had chance to react. There was a thud as he hit the bonnet. The car kept coming. Remy smacked against the windscreen and shattered the glass. Then he disappeared beyond the car, which finally came to rest inches from where Blaze was stood. For a moment the only sound was the hiss of steam escaping from the car's engine. The car door opened and a woman driver emerged. She looked as bad as Blaze felt, as if she was about to throw up.

"_Est-il blessé? __Est-il respirer? Est-il...__" _

"Shut it lady!" Blaze snapped at the car driver, who recoiled as if the redhead had slapped her. Blaze didn't care. She put a hand on the bonnet of the car and leapt over it, the hot metal not affecting her in the slightest. Landing on the far side of the car, she crouched down over Remy's stricken form. "Rem? Remy? Can you hear me?" she hesitated, fighting back the awful feeling that he might be dead. Bracing herself, she reached out and touched him. The pulse at his neck was strong, and Blaze let out a sigh of relief.

By now a crowd was gathering. The driver was hysterical, babbling to three or four onlookers. She didn't know what had happened, she had lost control of the vehicle and before she knew what was happening she was crashing. Someone was using a cell phone to call the emergency services. Blaze gulped. She had no intention of hanging around to speak to the _gendarmerie_. She tried to concentrate on Remy. Was he badly hurt? She didn't know; her knowledge of first aid was limited to three weeks as a Girl Guide when she was thirteen.

"Remy please wake up," she sobbed, falling to her knees and brushing his hair back from his forehead. He didn't seem to be bleeding except for a handful of scrapes and bruises. Blaze ran her hands over his limbs, trying to feel if anything was broken.

"Mrrm, dat tickles," Gambit protested meekly.

"Remy, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

In response Gambit slowly opened his eyes and tried to look round. Blaze gasped as he struggled to focus on her. His eyes were brown, boring and ordinary brown. Gambit reached out blindly, trying to sit up. Blaze offered her arm and helped him into a sitting position.

"What happened?" Gambit asked her, shaking his head to try and stop seeing stars.

"The car, that weirdo with the white thread threw it at you," Blaze tried to explain, tearing her gaze away from Gambit to see if she could find the culprit amongst the onlookers. He wasn't there.

"My 'plane," Remy muttered, "it was going down. Must've crashed…"

"'Plane?" Blaze asked, "You haven't got a plane, Remy. It was a car…"

"Jacks over fives," Gambit gave half a smile. The smile quickly turned into a frown, "Where's Logan? Did he make it?"

"We don't know anyone called Logan. You've been in a car crash."

"I'm dreamin' again," Remy told himself.

"No, you're not," Blaze told him, cradling him in her arms. "Please Remy, you're scaring me…" Blaze froze as the sound of sirens reached her. "Rem we have to go."

"I'll make my own way."

"No you bloody well won't," Blaze told him forcefully, focusing her concern into anger to make her strong enough for both of them. "I can't carry you Remy, you have to get up. Now Gambit. Get up!" Somehow she managed to pull him forward so that he could get his feet underneath him. Remy obliged by standing, albeit unsteadily, and allowing Blaze to put his arm across her shoulder so she could help him walk. With the crowd distracted by the arriving police, Blaze guided Gambit away to safety.

They had a crummy apartment above a shop a short walk away from the sea front. Blaze struggled to get Remy up the tight winding staircase and kick open the door. Inside the full-length window was open over a rusting Juliet balcony. The greying lace curtain billowed in the breeze. There was a dining table with a laptop on it and a 1950s kitchenette. A second room housed an oaken double bed and had a small bathroom off it. It was cheap and depressing, but it was home whilst they were in Nice. Gambit didn't recognise it at all; "Where are we?"

Blaze bit her tongue, guiding Gambit into the bedroom and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. She took off his Converse sneakers and knelt back. To her relief his eyes had started to change colour again. The irises were already crimson, and the whites were turning grey. Even better, he could focus on her now and there didn't seem to be any signs of concussion.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Blaze asked, making a rude gesture. Remy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts," he moaned.

"You're lucky to be hurting," Blaze replied. "That car hit you fast. It could have killed you."

"I don't remember no car," Remy murmured, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and came up short. Confused he asked Blaze, "Did you cut my hair?"

"No," Blaze frowned. "Why?"

"No reason," Gambit looked past her to where an ornate mirror hung on the wall. The mirror was greasy and the image fuzzy, but it showed him what he wanted to know. "My eyes…"

"Back to normal," Blaze confirmed gently. She ran her fingers under his jaw and turned his face to look at her. "I think you're just bruised, you'll be alright in a couple of days." She climbed up off the floor and sat next to him on the bed.

"Blaze," he suddenly remembered. The name surprised him. He hadn't known that he knew it. Turning to take her hand he told her the truth, "I t'ought I dreamt you."

"Really? I was the best you could dream up?"

"How long was I gone?" he asked. Blaze was stumped by that question. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts into a coherent answer. "You were out of my sight for less than thirty seconds, you didn't go anywhere."

"_Non,_" Remy shook his head. "I was dere for months, _Petite_. They locked me up on T'ree Mile Island but I escaped. I went home…"

"New Orleans?"

"Yeah," Gambit pursed his lips, confused. "I t'ink I saw Jean-Luc. He was… I t'ink he was there to take me off the streets. He wasn't much older than we are when he took me in. No wonder he was _un mauvais père_. Blaze, I t'ink I saw myself as an _enfant_."

"How?" Blaze was equally bewildered. Gambit didn't know the answer, so he pretended not to have heard her.

"Then Logan came, an' we went back to the prison an' freed the other mutants. They were testin' on 'em, even t'ough they were jus' kids. We freed 'em an' a man came in a black 'copter an' took 'em all away. Logan lost his memory, he didn't know who I was. Or who he was... I know how dat feels…" Gambit gave up trying to stay sat up and collapsed back onto the bed. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the nausea to pass.

"Let me get this straight," Blaze sighed, looking down on him. "You got hit by the car and it sent you back about fifteen years to when you were a little kid and your dad first took you in. You won a 'plane in a game of poker and used it to help some bloke called Logan free some mutant kids from a testing facility. You thought you'd dreamt me and you didn't remember who you were. Then the plane crashed and sent you back to the exact moment you left."

"Dat's about it," Gambit agreed mildly.

"I suppose the lack of memory stopped you placing any bets whilst you were there. You could've made a fortune on stuff that hadn't happened yet," teased Blaze gently.

"_Vous ne me croyez pas._"

"No I don't believe you. Time travel isn't possible, Rem. Besides you never went anywhere. You got hit by a car and knocked out. This is just the brain's way of dealing with it." Gambit said nothing in reply. Blaze stood and went to leave the room. Almost as an afterthought she looked back over her shoulder and said, "If you dreamt me, did you… y'know, with anyone else?"

Gambit didn't even open his eyes to answer, "You mad at me for somet'ing you don't believe happened?"

"Maybe," Blaze replied, turning back to him and wrapping her arms around herself. "I haven't decided yet."

Somehow Remy managed to sit up and then stand. Blaze watched as he made unsteady steps across the room towards her. He kissed her fully, rewarded as she pressed her warm and slender body against his. He broke away and pressed his lips to the top of her head, smelling her hair. "Come to bed," he told her huskily.

"You've just been hit by a car," Blaze replied, looking up at him with Bambi eyes. "You can't possibly…"

"I ain't seen you for months," Remy smiled, "Watch me…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I am making no money from this.

**A/N:** To Certh who commented on the French in my last chapter- my French is lousy (so is my English but that's another story), hence I use the Internet which is about as accurate as…something not very accurate. Well volunteered though- next time I shall just message you instead!!!

This is the last chapter of NATWWAL, and I'm amazed at how much interest this story has had. Thanks so much to everyone for reading. As I said in the story description, this was written so Corrinth and I can use Origins: Wolverine as part of our timeline. Consequentially if you're interested there are plenty more Gambit-based stories on my profile page. My current favourite is 'Fallen', which I re-read recently and was rather pleased with!

P.S. Does anyone know where I got this title from? Ten points if you can remember it from the film!

**Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost**

**06 – Epilogue**

There was a knock at the door of Professor Xavier's private office. Logan didn't wait for an answer; he entered anyway with a cigar clamped firmly in his mouth. It wasn't as if the Professor didn't know who it was. Xavier had promised to help him try to recover his lost memories, fifteen years after whatever event had stolen them from him. Now that he had recovered from 'loaning' his powers to a mortally injured Rogue on Liberty Island, Logan was hoping they could start to make progress. The Professor smiled as Logan entered and was about to say something when the telephone on his mahogany desk suddenly rang.

Xavier frowned, bidding Logan sit down as with his left hand he reached out to pick up the receiver. Logan saw a micro-expression cross the Professor's face, a tint of disgust and regret. Then it was gone, and Xavier was greeting the caller with an impassive tone of voice.

"Christopher, I have not heard from you in a long time. What can I do for you?"

On the other end of the call in France, the man named Christopher bit his lip. He had been one of Xavier's first students, in the same class as Cyclops and the White Queen. The survivors of Three Mile Island had a lot to be grateful to Xavier for. Still, Christopher could not quite forgive Xavier for casting him out, a punishment for letting his burgeoning powers destroy another mutant.

"It is good to hear your voice Professor, how are Scott and the others?" both men knew that Christopher did not care how Cyclops was. The pair had never seen eye to eye, even before the incident with Bishop.

"They are well," Xavier replied.

"And the feral, Logan, has he found his way to you yet?" asked Christopher. Xavier froze, trying not to look at Wolverine. Logan was oblivious; he had stood again and was browsing a bookshelf full of college yearbooks. He couldn't work out who they could belong to, Jean perhaps? They certainly weren't the Professor's as the dates were all too recent. Christopher interpreted the silence at the end of the line for confusion. "You forget Professor that timelines run through my fingers like threads. It must be past time for him to come to you."

"Yes," replied Charles brusquely. "Yes, indeed."

"Does he have his memories? Or are they still lost?"

"Don't you know?" Xavier replied, his patience evaporating. "I would have thought you could tell. What do you want Christopher?"

"Your help," Christopher admitted. "I need your help Professor. There, I've said it."

"With what?" Charles asked.

"Go to Cerebro and I will show you," said Christopher, then he hung up.

Xavier hesitated before he put the handset back in its cradle. Logan turned around at the sound of the click, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"I apologise Logan, I am required elsewhere. A former student of mine has got himself into difficulties and I dare not ignore his plea for help, for all our sakes."

"What do you mean?" said Logan.

"Christopher has the ability to read timelines, even going into the future," replied Charles as he turned his wheelchair and headed towards the door. "He can see how things fit together, relationships and events. Once in a while he has met an individual who was susceptible to the influence of this power, and he has been able to move them from one point in the timeline to another."

"Time travel," Logan was incredulous.

"Precisely," Xavier replied. Logan kept pace with the Professor as they headed for the lower levels of the mansion. "There was a student here named Bishop who could absorb the powers of others and feed it back as raw energy. He and Christopher became friends. Christopher discovered that he could make Bishop travel through time. For a while they experimented without my knowing, but Bishop would always come back. When Bishop started to change, to obsess about travelling through time, I was forced to act and discipline Christopher for the use of his powers. I did not act soon enough. Christopher relented to Bishop's plea and sent him on one last trip. Bishop never returned. Shortly after that Christopher left the mansion and I have not heard from him in close to ten years."

"Until today," Logan finished for the Professor. They had reached the doors of Cerebro and Logan stood back. "You think he's done it again? Sent someone on a magical mystery tour?"

"I am certain of it," Xavier replied. The Cerebro doors welcomed the Professor and he passed through. Logan let him go. The doors closed between them and the lights lit up along the gangway to the Cerebro console. Xavier moved forwards to take the helmet and place it on his brow. At once the lights shifted, and it was the work of moments for Xavier to locate his former student. Despite being in Nice, Christopher could have been standing next to the Professor in Westchester.

"Just so you know," Christopher said straight away. "I haven't touched my powers in this way for ten years."

"But you have used your powers," Xavier told him bluntly. "I have heard about your gambling problem Christopher."

"How can it be a problem when you always win," Christopher was dismissive. "A man has to live Professor."

"And now you have slipped back into sending other people through time," Charles said. "You promised me you would never do that again, not after what happened to Bishop."

"I didn't think I could, do you know how rare it is to find someone who is capable of being influenced by my powers and sent through time? It doesn't matter anyway, this time I had no choice but to act. I remembered him Professor. I remembered seeing him when I was just a kid locked in a cell on Three Mile Island. When I saw him today he hadn't changed at all, and I knew then that the timeline was telling me I had to send him back."

"Who did you send?" Xavier asked. He reached with his telepathy to find the man Christopher had affected. The image formed in the centre of the Cerebro chamber, in front of Xavier and the mental projection of Christopher. A young man sat shirtless at an old dining table. Bruises covered his arms and side, mottling his pale skin black and blue. There was a burn on his back which had blistered, but he didn't seem troubled by it. He was using a laptop computer, and all around him were scattered pages of lined paper covered in handwritten notes. Xavier turned the image around so he could see the young man's face. He gasped as events from fifteen years ago replayed in Xavier's mind. _"Je ne suis pas censé être là. __I'm sorry. Take care o' the kids."_

"You know him," Christopher whispered. "You recognise him too."

"Indeed I do," replied Charles. "Fifteen years ago I offered him a place here at the mansion. He replied that he did not belong here. At the time it did not make sense to me, but he was adamant so I did not press him. Now I understand."

"Damn it," murmured Remy quietly. He turned from the laptop and started to shuffle through some of the papers. Xavier frowned.

"He's trying to figure it out," Christopher told Xavier. "Bishop did the same thing, obsessed about finding some record of what he had done in the past. Something about the time travel messes with your memory. Bishop said when he was back in time it took him a long while to work out who he was. When he got back, Bishop always wanted to make sure what had happened, had happened. Our friend here is trying to find out of he really did crash a 'plane into the ocean, or whether there was a cover-up to hide what happened on Three Mile Island. It will destroy him Professor; I don't want that to happen. I owe him too much. We all do. Scott, Emma and the rest. Just as much as we owe Wolverine…"

"What do you want me to do?" asked Charles.

"Take the memories," Christopher replied. "Make it so it never was for him. Otherwise it will consume him completely."

"Your power has shown you this?"

"Yes," Christopher hissed. "If you don't help me his life is as good as over."

"Alright," Xavier agreed reluctantly, "leave me. I will do what I must."

Christopher faded from the room, leaving only Charles and Gambit. Gently Xavier applied a small amount of pressure to the younger man's mind. #You don't need to do this,# Xavier told him calmly. At the same time he guided Gambit's hand, closing the webpage he was looking at. #Some things are better forgotten,# Xavier continued, using Remy to clear the browser history and cookies from the computer, #Let it go.#

Slowly forgetting the events of the last few months, Remy gathered up the pages of notes he had made and shuffled them into a pile. As the computer shut down, the Professor calmly employed Gambit's mutant ability. The papers started to glow fuchsia and orange. Then, on the night breeze from the open window, the paper disintegrated in Remy's hands. The Cajun thief blinked, opening his fingers as the last fragments disappeared. What had he just been doing?

"Rem?" Blaze was stood in the doorway from the bedroom, clutching a white sheet to herself whilst half asleep. Her hair was wild, her eyelids heavy and her mascara was smudged under her lashes. The sheet did little to cover her nakedness, but she didn't seem to notice. "What are you doing?"

"I…" Gambit looked at the laptop and found he couldn't remember. "I don't know."

Blaze shook her head slightly, bewildered. Then she turned and went back to bed. Gambit stared at the black laptop screen again for a moment, before closing the screen and following his girlfriend into the other room. They had a big day tomorrow, a job to complete in Nice and then they were due in Paris the day after. As he climbed into bed besides Blaze who was already sleeping, his last thought was 'I could really use a 'plane…"

The End…

(…and yes, I did mean to leave Blaze with her memories of Gambit's adventure, just in case…)


End file.
